


Not enough, never enough

by NarcissisticAsshole



Series: There's no turning back from a path carved in stone [6]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aka Schlatt dies but not before regretting what he did, Also Wilbur's there, Canonical Character Death, Gen, In other words i wrote a different take on Schlatt's death cause i didn't like his canonical death, Insanity, It's Schlatt after all, Kinda, Madness, Regret, Stabbing, fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27604373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarcissisticAsshole/pseuds/NarcissisticAsshole
Summary: He was oh so frightened, and for once he was unable to hide the terror in his eyes.“You- you fucker...”Aka, Wilbur kills Schlatt and the guy regrets what he did, but not enough for it to truly matter
Series: There's no turning back from a path carved in stone [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966168
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	Not enough, never enough

**Author's Note:**

> No, I Did Not Like Schlatt's Death So I'm Ignoring Canon And Writing Something Else
> 
> Expect more oneshots related to the final battle, because Oh Lord that was incredibly good

Schlatt crawled through the floor, hand on his stomach holding his injury in place. This had been by far- the most _terrible_ idea he’d ever had. His mind was going at a thousand miles per hour, thinking about how it should have gone. He shouldn’t be _here_ , _fighting_ in the front lines. He could feel the blood sipping through his fingers, chest stinging where there had been a blade only a few moments ago. If he recalled correctly, it had been the Blade’s sword, a lazy smile on his face as he’d stabbed the president in the middle of the battle. After letting a scream, Schlatt had fallen to the ground, watching the blood pour out- the _pain_ , unfamiliar yet settling down on him as if it had always been there.

He’d dragged himself out of the place, breathing heavy as he prayed that nobody had noticed him. He wasn’t made for _fighting_ , and he was less than ready to give his life for a dead cause. That’s what it was. The darned country- the people, they’d all turned their backs on him. All of them, in favour of the prepotent child and pretty madman. He couldn’t blame- except he _did_. What did they have that he didn’t? Ever since he’d earned the title of president, things had gone _fine_ , and dare he say, _better_. So why was he not enough? What was he lacking? Were his words not fancy enough? Did he get drunk too often? He didn’t- _couldn’t_ understand a world in which Wilbur was better than him.

The horned man heard someone behind himself, and risking a glance he saw- the man of the hour, with no armor but his coat. It hardly served as armor, and Schlatt found himself envying the other for still retaining that same freedom he’d lost the moment he’d decided to postulate for presidency. He stood, only a few meters behind him as Schlatt crawled, trying to get as far away from the smiling _bastard_ , who watched his panic with an amused expression. He was _enjoying_ this, Schlatt realized as his eyes widened and fists clenched. His back met a wall- the _van_ , his mind suggested. The van he’d never had the heart to destroy, the van that Tubbo had watched with wanting eyes in the evening, mournful over what he’d lost. The van he had occasionally found Fundy sitting next to, scribbling in the pages of a book he never showed him. The van Niki had decorated despite being unused, glaring at him every time she had had the chance. The van-

“Get _away_ from me you _madman_ -!”

He shook his head, ignoring the memories of better times, when he wasn’t running for his life and fighting in the front lines. Those people- they _all_ betrayed him for the smiling bastard in front of him. They all _left_ him- and he refused to mourn those who had left him by choice. Wilbur crackled, his eyes earning a new glint as he neared Schlatt with slow pace. Oh, he was _definitely enjoying this._

“They’re all fighting… i could just _end_ you and no one would know…”

  
  
His last words were almost a whisper, his tone close to high pitched. There was something different emanating from Wilbur- a different aura. Not the imperial president from before, but rather a drunk fifty year old man who regretted everything. Similar to his own charcter, he thought bitterly. It was _different_ from everything he’d learned to expect from the man, and that was unsettling.

“Wilbur- Wilbur whatcha’ going on about…?”

  
  
“I could end _your_ life, and after _everything_ you’ve done to me… it’s what you deserve.”

  
  
Schlatt freezed, Wilbur getting nearer and nearer until he kneeled in front of him and grabbed him by the neck, a maniac smile on his face. He should have seen it coming- he should have _noticed_ Wilbur’s different demeanor.

The man was _insane_. 

That explained a lot.

“Wilbur get the _fuck_ away from me-”

  
  
“And let you live? Not in my watch.”

  
  
He stopped abruptly, trying but failing miserably to get Wilbur to loosen his grip on his neck. He could feel the blood leaving him as this happened- his chest now free, hands on Wilbur’s arm and trying to push him away, to _live_.

He was oh so frightened, and for once he was unable to hide the terror in his eyes.

“You- you _fucker_...”

He felt a sword on his chest, reopening the wound he’d so desperately tried to maintain shut and he let out a whimper, closing his eyes and breathing heavily as blood escaped his mouth. Glancing upwards- all he could see was Wilbur’s maddenning, _sick_ eyes, filled with a purpose he hadn’t seen in a long time. The man moved away, leaving his blade stuck on Schlatt’s flesh with triumphant a grin plastered on his face.

And this was the _end_. Schatt sighed, running a shaking hand through his hair, eyes looking for something to fix themselves on. He desperately gripped at the sword stuck in his chest, trying to take it out but being unsuccessful. His hands fell to his sides, hopelessly accepting his destiny. He was going to _die_ , and somehow the knowledge was less than reassuring. He would _die_ , and he wished he’d said sorry to Tubbo for everything, wished he’d written together with Fundy during the evenings and decorated the van together with Niki. He wished he'd been better- anything to save him from this fate and the heavy feeling in his chest- but he wasn't sorry towards Wilbur. No- that man deserved _everything_ he got. He deserved the madness, the lies and the ultimate death.

“Fuck you, Wilbur.”

  
  
He coughed blood, closing his eyes and breathing quietly.

Those were his last words.

[-------]

Wilbur watched disappointed as Schlatt stopped breathing, his body beginning to drop temperature. _Death_. Less than satisfying- less than what he’d imagined on those nights when he screamed the horned man’s name with a bitter voice and terrible purpose. He should have made it painful- should have tasted the man’s fear for a bit longer.

It was not _enough_.

Perhaps it never would be.

"Wilbur!"

Except he knew _exactly_ what to do now.

It would be an absolute _blast_.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the [LINK](https://discord.gg/ju4CnJaZzg) to a MCYT server where you can meet other artists and writers such as myself!


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